


feel it all

by Carth



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, Evaris, Evis, F/M, I don't like William, I love this couple, Nooris, SKAM, it's complicated - Freeform, not really - Freeform, sorry for my mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carth/pseuds/Carth
Summary: The sky above their heads is faded; Oslo is cloudy, cold and fresh./noora needs something warm so badly/





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [fell it all](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570734) by [Carth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carth/pseuds/Carth). 



The sky above their heads is faded; Oslo is cold, muddy and unpleasant this spring.

Noora swells her coat - buses in peeling light-yellow paint - like someone's bruised skin; somebody, she thinks, has finally finished someone.

There's this stupid old wallpaper on her phone screen about kindness - black on white, how aesthetically pleasing and conceptual; veins on her thin wrists are like green stitches on porcelain canvas, the ugliness itself. 

"Fuck it. Be bad."

Chris is the boy from glossy magazines with pale-blue pages; cadaveric decomposition on his skin like small cracks, shoulder blades - leftovers of wings - twine around his ribs - draw a thick material of his hoodie, red line across his name like a death sentence.

Noora wrinkles; the sunrise behind her back is moody, mixing blueberry black and pink, ribcages of old dinosaurs are standing up on the line of horizon. 

The sea is disgusting, chains her bare feet with cold; Noora needs something desperately warm, sunny: Vilde or the draft of the London's Underground. Noora buries herself under the sand and stones, seeking for shelter somewhere far from normal or better when hers; people like Chris are still single-day butterflies, the gum chewed for hundreds of times, for some reasons still needed (Eva looks at her from the screen with her stupid puppy-like eyes; Noora hangs off because they're best friends or something).

Nordost blows away the scurf of the Disney story; white noise and cold sand under her feet - William - red wine and warm blankets - almost disappeared scent of perfume on sharp collarbones. 

"He won't come back, Noora-ah", Chris chants on purpose, tastes someone else's desperation on the tip of his tongue; the perfect William always forgets that people without his stupid "happily ever after" wait for too long hoping for something; Chris got tired of it eternity ago, a shadow behind someone else's back, a reflection on crystal clear sea surface.

Chris is used to picking things up after William: popularity, some lost souls; Noora is thin, faded, a dedicated stray dog searching for heat in someone's ribs. 

Chris doesn't know why the hell people like Noora - the weight of stupid promises and endless yearning in the chest - kiss people like him. 

Chris is still a boy from glossy pages - dissolves perfectly in the sea.


	2. Chapter 2

They meet again at another stupid pre-party, Eva is drunk and her hair is soaked with champagne; she looks like shit, Chris wants to throw up the second he sees her and stares at a peachy pink stain on her shirt, just above her heart. 

"I'm here for you, why can't you be here for me, is it so hard? "

Chris lazily scrolls through his Instagram feed, glancing at colorful meaningless pictures popping out again and again, catches a glimpse of red lips and throws his phone on the couch, in Eskiles' soft little pillows (sweet-sweet Eskile is smiling at him from the opposite side of the room, Chris isn't walking under their flags, but wants something ridiculously bright, with a sweet smell of a chocolate-flavored joints so badly).

Eva leans on a cold radiator, her thin shirt sticks to skin, and sips on her warm shitty beer from a red paper cup; it's hot in the dark flat, Eva is a little bit drunk and wants to make out and to have someone's hands on her naked bones so badly (she uploads pieces of blueberry-colored skin on Instagram, someone from Pepsi Max leaves a bunch of colorful shining faces, nothing real, Eva wants to fucking die in the nearest dirty alley because everything fragile and ethereally broken is fashionable).

Eva is like a book, a little collection of someone else's lives: Noora's minimalism and red lips, Vilde's girlishness, an explosion of Chris's madness, Sana's harshness - there's nothing new in her, just ketchup-covered fingers and oily lips. 

"You're a fucking disaster, Mohn", Chris singsongs, licks a tip of her ear and scrunches his nose: tastes like a synthetic bitter floral perfume from bright bottles on the shelves in a dirty stuffed room. 

She is drowning in a thin blanket in not and never her bed, arching her back until she hears bones crack, moans quietly and looks for something ethereal in her chest; Chris is smoking right after because he's cool and look, I don't give a single fuck, I always wanted something that wasn't mine but I don't need anything from you, way too simple, God, why did I even go for it, your mascara was running down your plump cheeks and touching not your things is disgusting, I don't need children' fuck-ups.

Lilac covers skin like silk; Noora picks up someone's underwear and scrunches her nose in disgust; powdered kissed girls wriggle on expensive covers, smearing themselves like an old high-calorie avocado, stay as a mild oily taste on the tip of the tongue.

Noora is all about aesthetics; Noora pours herself some red wine in a white mug - scratches down the spine look like little red half-moons - Chris always comes back, but Eva is cute and she shouldn't know (Chris sticks around because he's sympathetic and there are only drunk 16-year olds left and a sweet Eva but no one wants something sweet, it all really feels like an act of molesting a kid.

"You better stop, Eva isn't made of air, people actually get hurt", the girl says (she's still sick, Magnusson as her own fancy illness, Chris is tired of telling her he won't come back, Chris is tired of waiting, he desperately needs some warmth because he was chilled out at this rocked beach, got his feet bitten by a cold sea in January; Noora hid her nose in his shoulder, Chris wanted to make out, but there was a whole tragedy, Eva was far away and they were nothing, Eva was just in love and Chris never wanted to fall like that for somebody. 

"Like I'm not a human, Noora-ah", he looks at the phone in his hands, the screen lights up with a message notification, Eva invites him over, she has some beer (like they're fifteen and Chris still has Iben to fuck his brain with, everything is naive and shuttering ) and twenty comedies about love between teenagers, you're sick of them but always feel nostalgic. Eva said once she usually cried while watching them after some vodka. 

"People aren't as shitty as you are, Christoffer", Noora draws in on a cigarette, Chris is slowly dying right in front of her and wants to hide in Eva's small dusty room, to allow his girl heal his wounds, because it's still strange between them.

Chris stands up and runs away, hid knees hurt because of little pieces of glass. Noora is angry, leaves a bright red scratch on his hands, she's drowning in hatred and sickness, Chris doesn't want to destroy himself because of somebody so he runs to Eva and it's easier.

Just loving someone is not enough; Chris covers her shoulders with a thin blanket and gives a bottle of warm worn-out beer - Noora's drunk up all his red wine and broke all the mugs (Chris has nothing left to offer).


End file.
